


Why So Serious?

by OctoberNightmare



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Co-Written, Domestic, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, WORKING ON UPDATES
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1464976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OctoberNightmare/pseuds/OctoberNightmare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon realizing they are abusing the patients at Arkham; Bruce Wayne has the Joker move in with him at the manor, while keeping his identity as Batman secret from the Clown. They soon developed from being casual acquaintances, to so much more. Soon enough, Bruce Wayne's manor has become the new home for a multitude of semi-reformed criminals. But, well, he is Bruce Wayne, and he has done more scandalous things than start a collection of Super Villains anyways. And, hell, It is not like they all know he is Batman... only two of them... and they won't say anything. Right?</p><p>Disclaimer: I do not own Batman, The Joker, and any other characters and other DCU plots, ideals, ect. All I own is the idea... nothing more. DCU owns Batman and his Universe. No money is beings made.</p><p>THIS FIC WAS ADOPTED BY 136KRONOS!!!!!!</p><p>(I didn't adopt it. I was blackmailed into co-writing it. ~ KRONOS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Escape from Arkham

**~*~~*~~*~~*~**

Title: Why So Serious?

Rating: NC-17, Explicit, MA-16+, R

Themes: Macabre, Romance, Domestic, Angst, Fluff, Minor Crack

Pairing: Joker/Batman, Harley/Ivy, Harvey/Scarecrow

Summary: Upon realizing they are abusing the patients at Arkham; Bruce Wayne has the Joker move in with him at the manor, while keeping his identity as Batman secret from the Clown. They soon developed from being casual acquaintances, to so much more. Soon enough, Bruce Wayne's manor has become the new home for a multitude of semi-reformed criminals. But, well, he is Bruce Wayne, and he has done more scandalous things than start a collection of Super Villains anyways. And, hell, It is not like they all know he is Batman... only two of them... and they won't say anything. He hopes.

**~*~~*~~*~~*~**

Chapter One - Escape from Arkham

**_Why So Serious?_ **

The familiar words were written across the stained walls of the cell in dripping blood, as aggressive as the psychopath who had written them, cold and congealed from sitting out too long in the chilly air of the Asylum. Batman stared at the bloody once white padded walls, gritting his teeth in frustration. There was no way he could have escaped, not without help. The door was thrown wide open, as though someone let him out. Though it was more likely, the Joker had killed the nurse and guards first. When the massacre started. There were more bodies here, than in all the graves of Gotham, it seemed. More than enough to make it hard for Batman to tell which were inmates, and which were not.

Batman paced as he thought, ignoring the snide remarks the police officers seemed to think he could not hear, pondering where the villain could have gone. Pools of blood sloshed around his feet as he walked, his black cape dragging through it in a way that could only be seen as menacing by any viewpoint. He had already checked all of the Clown Prince of Crime's usual hiding places, but he was not in any of the toy stores or factories in the town. He had vanished without a trace, unable to be found no matter how hard Batman looked. Still, Batman _Knew_ he was still in town, like an instinctual bond to the insane man, or something of the like. He did not know how, or why, but he knew the Joker was still in Gotham. Moreover, he knew he had to find him.

The grainy security tapes showed the billionaire vigilante that The Joker had been injured at some point on his escaping, and he had not seemed to be in such a good shape beforehand either. The tapes cut out at random intervals, making it really hard to follow the gruesome events that had taken place. For that, Batman would never admit to being grateful. He had not been sure he would have been able to stand watching the Harlequin of Hate at work. Batman had no doubts that when Harley Quinn crashed the car into the gates she had probably worsened the wounds he had sustained during his bloody massacre. If he was to trust his instincts, the Joker was still in Gotham, and desperately in need of medical assistance.

~*~

As Batman continued his pacing and thinking up at the Asylum, Harley Quinn was starting to get anxious. In a rundown motel towards the outskirts of town, the Joker lay on the bed bleeding, giggling softly as the blonde-haired woman chewed on her nails nervously. He had such horrible injuries it was a miracle he was even conscious or coherent at this point, although the constant giggling certainly was not convincing Harleen of his sanity. Or lack thereof, she guessed, given that the man had never been sane by any means.

Beneath the scars and alterations, The Joker had once been a very beautiful man. When he washed away all the greasepaint, and allowed to green to wash out of his hair, he could be very attractive. However, it took special eyes to look passed the scars and the insane gleam in his eyes. Harley had never been able to look passed the scars on her beloved's face, but she could see beauty in his ugliness. It was as good as it got.

Perhaps her undivided devotion was why the Joker kept her around. He certainly wasn't sure anymore, for she had become to get on his nerves, and he was sure she was going to leave him sooner or later for the stupid plant loving red head who kept popping up in their hideaways. Or, she would leave him once she finally realized the only one for him was the big bad bat.

The Joker knew he loved batman the moment he first set eyes on him. He had seen him in the papers, a vigilante dressed up in a giant bat suit, brooding face hidden under a cowl, and he had decided he wanted to play with this eccentric individual. However, the moment he had first laid eyes on the Batman he knew he would not kill him just yet. The fact that Batman could keep up with him, and the fact that he was just so wonderfully fun to mess with, only cemented the Joker's obsessive realization that this was the only one for him.

They completed each other. Batman with his marble-gargling voice and his blue eyes, the Joker with his scarred up face, they fit together as if they were made to dance. And didn't he just love the games they played, the cat and mouse chasing, the way the vigilante just seemed to ooze with self-duty and honor. He was an honorable man, and the Joker could never decide if he wanted to break him, or hide him away from the world just so that he never changed.

"I'm hungry." He told the blonde, who immediately got up and searched the cupboards.

There was a box of pasta and a half used jar of spaghetti sauce a week past its expiration date. But Harley believed it was better than letting her precious Mistah J starve. Only problem was, the blonde girl had not a hand for cooking. She poured the dry bow tie noodles in a chipped dusty white bowl, and poured the sauce over it. This was how she presented the Joker with his food.

Of course, he was not in the mood to insult her cooking, as he had dealt with it while he was at Arkham. This actually worried the girl more, as it showed how weak he was. He always insulted her cooking, insisting the noodles were supposed to be baked. Of course, he was not sure about that either, but he was sure it would taste better than the dry crunchy morsels in the dish. Besides, he had a few memories of when his mother was actually paying him any mind, and she had baked them. He thought she baked them at least.

The Joker had not but three bites when Batman burst from the shadows like a, forgive the expression, Bat out of hell, scaring the blonde. The Joker found this funny, and he started laughing at her startled expression.

"'Bout time you showed up Bats." he laughed, coughing up blood and wiping it on the ragged bloodstained asylum pants. A little more blood was not going to do much to them anyways.

"Mistah J, what should I do?" Harley Quinn asked, inching closer to him protectively.

~*~

Batman quickly assessed the Jokers wounds, grimacing as he realized the extent of the damage. He was covered in bruises, looking as though someone had crudely tried to sew him back up. He opened his mouth to address Harley Quinn, to ask how long he had been coughing blood, but was distracted by the bowl.

"What the hell are you eating?" he asked instead, looking at the... well, he was not really sure he could call it food. It looked like dry noodles and tomato paste to be honest, and even he, who had his food prepared for him, at least knew how to cook noodles. Actually, he was a pretty good cook, but he rarely cooked anything that was not some form of baked good, and he could not live on bread and pie for life.

"Pasta." The Joker replied, as if it should be obvious, and for a moment Batman was no longer the masked vigilante, he was just Bruce. Even though no one would see the change. The Joker could see the change, of course he could, how could he have missed the way the gleam in his eyes was replaced by sudden mirth, and he knew he had seen that face before. He just was not sure where.

"You know you have to cook it first, right?" He laughed, forgetting the dire situation at hand just for a moment.

"What? Like bake it?" Harley asks seriously. "Mistah J was always telling me it needed baking."

"No." Bruce Wayne laughed, blue eyes sparkling. The Joker could see the amusement that replaced the bitterness, and he smiled to himself. Whomever that mask hid was gorgeous when he smiled. "You have to boil it." Then he shook his head, letting his persona as Batman resurface. The Joker was strangely saddened to see the familiar facade slip back over his prince charming's face, but not too disappointed, because it was Batman he fell for first. "But seriously, how long has he been coughing blood? He may have punctured a lung."

"Why so serious, Batsy?" The Joker chuckled, "You sound like you actually care."

"No, I just don't want you to die yet." Batman answered helping, or rather dragging, the insane trickster to his feet. "I'm taking you back to the hospital at Arkham."

It was then that the Joker, who had been smiling brightly despite everything the entire time batman had been there, lost his Cheshire grin. Even the scars seemed to frown. Probably from the loss of blood, some strange paranoia onset by his weakened state, the Joker seemed to panic a little. He hid it well, aside from the sudden terrified blurted, "No. Not there. Anywhere but there! Please don't take me back, Batsy."

Batman was not in the mood to play games, but he figured that the Joker was becoming paranoid and delusional from blood loss, and saw no other choice. He sighed heavily, and dragged the Joker to his Tumbler, instructing Harley Quinn to follow to the nearest hospital, and sped off in the direction of Gotham General.

Batman would not admit it in a thousand years, not even to himself, but he was rather fond of the game they played. That was probably the real reason he did not want the Joker to die yet, or at least that is what he kept telling himself, for the alternative was that he was in love with the lunatic, and he was not sure if the Joker would not just kill him if he found out. It did not seem to be the right end to the game anyways.

~*~

Four hours. That was the amount of time the Joker was in surgery. It was the amount of time Batman and several of Gotham's finest paced through the hospital waiting room, intimidating many of those waiting to get treated, or for their loved one to come back out. They were planning to take the Joker back to the prison, and then back to the Asylum when it was cleaned up and no longer full of holes. Back to the way it was. That was the plan, but not everything could go according to plan. It all was up to chance and choices in the end.

"Mr. Batman?" Batman looked up at the nurse. A pretty young thing she was, what with her pale freckled cheeks and bright green eyes. She looked fairly concerned, her thin lips pursed and her brow furrowed. "Can I talk to you?" He moved forward, along with the half-dozen police officers. "Alone if you will."

"Of course." He followed her out of the waiting room and into the florescent white hall, motioning for the officers to stay back. "What is it?"

"I must tell you a few things, but I must insist you don't think as Batman, but rather as the person behind the mask." He gave her an odd look, confused, and she sighed. "I need you to keep an open mind, and I should hope you can view, er, Mr. J as a patient for this moment, and not a criminal."

"Okay." Batman nodded. He already saw the Joker as her patient, and he did not need to open his mind much. He could envision a Gotham without the Joker, or one where he was not insane, but he choose not to. He existed because of the Joker. They completed each other. He wondered if he should have been shot for that thought.

"Okay. For starters, the good news is he survived the surgery, and his injuries are much better than we had been expecting. He has a broken rib, a sprained wrist, multiple small fractures up his right tibia, and a minor concussion. His rib punctured his left lung, but it was clean and easy to fix. He should be fine, but I would ask you kindly let him stay so we can watch over him. He can be released in four days at earliest, but I should like it if you let him stay for an extra day or two." The blonde girl stated, with a slight question in her voice.

"That sounds reasonable to me." Batman nodded, "And the bad news?"

"Mr. J," once again she seemed hesitant, but continued nonetheless. "Well it seems that, if my calculations are correct, he's been undergoing quite the abusive treatment up at Arkham."

She pulled various copies of X-Rays and other pictures, showing not just the new injuries, but also some that looked old, from the file in her arms. Scars, bruises, cuts, and burns littered his skin, some looked fresh, others older. Like someone had been torturing him for years. And he knew most of those wounds were not from him, and definitely not from the recent escape attempt.

"If it isn't too out of my authority, what kind of treatments do they do up at Arkham Asylum, Mr. Batman?" She asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea, Doctor Brochette.” And he really did not.

It sickened him to think that they were abusing their inmates as if they were animals. They were supposed to be making them better, they were supposed to be giving them therapy and pills and whatever else psychiatrists did to make them improve so that they could lead normal lives. They were supposed to be making it to where he no longer had to dress up in a suit, making it possible for Bruce Wayne to date the Joker after his release. They were supposed to be helping. It angered him to think of anyone hurting any of the patients, let alone **_HIS_** Joker. Damn his stupidly soft heart and that insanely funny man with his purple suit and inappropriate humor.

"Keep the Police away." He advised, "Tell them he is in a coma or something. I need a few days. No visitors, no contact. I have an Asylum to visit."

"Thank you so much Batman." she said, genuinely uplifted by his show of concern, but he is already gone with a swish of black, and the sound of bat wings.


	2. AN

Hey guys, I am turning this story over to the fabulous S. Reaver (Aka. 136KRONOS) because it is clear that I am never updating if I continue as I am. I will warn you that neither of us writes very fast, and Rea has some insane ideas that will blow this out of the water. I am sorry for my slowness. I will be updating chapters occasionally, when I can, but for now, Rea is taking over. Love You all! ~ October


	3. chapter 2

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**136KRONOS**

**Why so serious**

**Chapter - 02**

**-.-.-.-.-.-**

**-.-.-.-.-.-**

**Gotham**

**-.-.-.-.-.-**

**You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it.**

**~ Robin Williams**

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

Chapter Two – A Trip to Arkham

Batman had only a few hours in which he could use to observe the fortress-like prison known as Arkham. The sun was coming up, and Lucius had absolutely foreboded him from missing this board meeting. It was important that he be there, fully conscious for once, so that he could check the Russian entrepreneur out. His presence as Bruce Wayne was non-negotiable.

The black clad vigilante scowled at the prison from atop his perch, sighing in a frustrated way, before standing and heading back home. Years of breakouts had made it to where it was impossible for him to break in without being noticed by at least four people. While, he could easily take care of a few guards, he was not really in the mood to go about kicking random people’s butts simply so he could be noticed later, and have to explain that he was breaking in to check the living conditions of the very men and women he’d gotten locked up in the first place.

No, there had to be some way. Some way he could simply stroll in to check on the patients. Laying on the bed, no longer dressed in his costume, Bruce Wayne contemplated ways he could break in. It was like trying to break into the Bastille. It could not be done. He was just about to fall asleep, when the answer hit him like a slap in the face with a bag of bricks. A smugly triumphant smile painted its way across his lips as he fell into sleep’s grasp.

\--

Seven hours and four pots of coffee later, Bruce Wayne stood outside Arkham Asylum with an armload of papers, and a welcoming grin on his face. A very professionally dressed man comes over to greet him. “Welcome to Arkham.” He greets.

“Thank you.” Bruce tries very hard not to wipe his hands on his pants when the handshake is done. The other man’s hand was slippery and oily and it was rather like shaking hands with a rotted fish. Not very pleasant is an understatement.

“You know, you’ve never visited Arkham before, despite your sizable donations.” The man points out. “What made you wish to visit today, if it’s not to rude to ask?”

“Wayne Enterprises is thinking about starting a rehab, of sorts, for the very villains the vigilante batman has put away.” Bruce shrugs. “We are planning to reintegrate these poor souls back into society. Reforming them into decent no longer insane citizens.”

Okay, so that’s not entirely a lie. He cares about Joker, though he’d probably end up with matching scars if he told the man that, but he isn’t sure if any of them can be saved. Scarecrow, Jonathan Crane, maybe. The Joker, yes. But crocodile? Selena? Harley? Ivy? No… he does not believe any of them can be fixed. Still, he is Bruce Wayne, and if Bruce Wayne wants a collection of un-reform-able supervillains to live in his manor, who are they to judge. Billionaires are allowed their eccentric little things, no matter how much normal people would wish to smack them.

The tour is short, uninformative, and boring as hell. The doctor yaks on and on and on about this and that and all these things while Bruce tries desperately to find something incriminating. He is almost ready to give up when he sees it.

The joker, despite his specific instructions, is inside one of the rooms. Battered to all hell, a grin painted on his face, his eyes haunted and, dare Bruce even think it, scared. Bruce’s hands tighten on his clipboard.

“I think we’re done here.” He pretends not to notice the leer the guard sends at the joker. “I would like to take erm, the Joker, home as our first subject.” He clearly hears Bruce, because the Joker’s mouth drops open just as wide as the guards does.

But it’s like he said before. He’s a billionaire. No one cares what he does.

Ten minutes, three legal forms, and an argument about seatbelts later… Bruce is headed back to his manor with the crown prince of crime riding in the passenger seat, head out the window, the haunted look in his eyes already fading.

\----

My Dear Loving Readers, I would like to point out that October hates me, for he/she? Must in order to be so cruel as to send me twenty six different unfinished draft documents, with only one sentence to paragraph on each. I will do my best to live up to your expectations, but this is a hard story to write, considering my only basis for this story is The Dark Night and various fan fictions Please don’t kill me if I am slow. I will try not to be as slow as October. ~KRONOS


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